


The Ant and the Wall.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, rescue.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 19:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20120443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: A drunk Fingon is questioned about the rescue of Maedhros.





	The Ant and the Wall.

  
No, I will not make a song. I shall never sing of this. But I have drunk enough to speak a little...  
All I did was sing, they say... Yes, yes that is so. But I sang there. None of you were there, nor dared even to consider such a journey. No, I do not blame you, it was folly for me to try it, this I know, for all who could warned me not to go, and wisely so.

The Shadow... we all know it now, alas, but then, then it was a strange thing and the Light was still strong within me. But every league north, every furlong, every step, it was as though each step were up a sheer cliff, in a storm. Fear became a solid weight upon my heart, and no thought of song entered my shattered mind. It was the worst thing I have ever done. It made the ice seem pleasant by contrast; for there we were all together, under the stars, and we sang, and yes, we laughed at times.

There is no laughter in the Shadow.

What ? Of course I was lonely ! I cannot say whether the sky were clear or no, for under the Shadow my head was bowed, and I forgot the stars, the sun and the moon. I almost forgot hope. I did not look up, I did not think to look up, I merely endured. My limbs took me on into the darkness, though I myself was almost lost to it, and the walls, the cliffs, the vastness... It was as though the Enemy had snapped Arda in twain, and placed the broken pieces side by side, one part higher than the rest, and shrouded in fume. I scrabbled like an ant at the foot of the walls... I knew not why...

But that is not it, we all know the Shadow now, what would you ? You would twist the knife in my heart ? Force me to remember him again as he was then ? See, the tears flow already, you have made me weep again, yes, more wine.

Few here remember his glorious youth; mighty Maedhros, my cousin and my friend.  
But he was fine ! Oh ! And such a joy, even amidst the strife, or so we considered it, of Valinor. Ha ! We were so delicate, so sensitive to slight and to nuance, things that now seem as loving as embraces, after the Shadow...  
What did we know then of emnity ? Nothing !

But the finest part of his spirit was that he came to me in Tirion, and spoke of his hope that the rivalry between our fathers would not trouble us children, that we must all be friends together. And for a time I accepted his friendship as lightly as the politeness of strangers. But indeed there was true warmth between us, and much laughter and song, and my pain at Losgar cannot be measured save by those unhappy few who have considered themselves betrayed by a brother or dear friend.

So with the pain, so with the joy, and the knowledge that he had not chosen to betray me lit my heart like the rise of Arien. Oh, who amongst us can ever forget the joy of Tilion rising ? Yes you may well weep with me ! It was one of the happiest hours I have known, for when my father valiantly raised his standard, and called forth the trumpets, our hearts were already rising ! But when Tilion shed his Light upon us as we stepped ashore !

Yes, play "Moonrise" again, why not ?

What ? Well he looked awful, of course he did ! Fool !  
Forgive me... It pains me still, the mere memory, and not of the Shadow alone. Truly, oh ! thankyou, yes, I will take a little miruvor. Ah, that is better...

Even from the ground I could see the ruin of him. I wept as I aimed my bow, and had to lower it to dry my eyes. His scream then will echo in my ears forever. He thought that I would not do it, that I would abandon him to his fate.  
No ! I accuse no one ! No one ! It was fey to try, only the Music spared Maedhros, not I.

Ha ! The eagle... I have seen them close, they brought messages to my father at times, but I confess I was shy of them, wary and shy, and always hung back. I do not have the understanding of Celegorm, for whom all creatures speak the same language. To me they are... well... strange ! I know that they are the creatures of Manwë, and I feel respect, nay, awe, when I see them, but I would not consider speech with such a... Well.

At first I took it for some fell creature from the Shadow, for my sight was as marred as the power of the Enemy could make it, though I doubt that he was aware of the ant by his walls...  
Sorry... Yes, the eagle... You have seen them ! I feared it, and raised my bow, but it spoke, not with words, but in thought. My skill is meagre, but those of you with the gift of perception will grasp my memory.

Ha ! Indeed, it does make you wonder... Was that an echo of the voice of Manwë in the thought of the eagle ? Does Manwë truly echo the Music ? And do I myself, as a sounding vessel, a little bell in the wind, ring in sympathy ?

Drunk ? Yes, I am drunk, but not so poisoned as I was then, blighted by the malice of the Enemy. But the eagle calmed me, and I remembered my breathing, and a little of the lessons of childhood, and I looked again at the keen eye of the bird, and knew it to be a creature of flesh and bone such as I, with no shadow on its spirit.

It was a wild ride, truly, and I know that many long for such a voyage, but I myself... I was in terror, and that would have been true though I had taken the flight from Tirion to Valmar. I had no control ! I could not reach the ground ! It was worse than boats, and I loathe boats. Ha ! They call me The Valiant, but if my feet are not firmly on the ground, I am helpless as an infant.

Oh, well, horses... But we rode before we could walk, horses are different.

Yes I am rambling, because I do not wish to face the memory, as I do not wish you to touch this bandage. No, the arrow merely grazed me, it will heal cleanly, soon. Would that our hearts were as resilient as our flesh ! But then, if we forgot our pain, we would forget our joy, and no love could grow !

He looked dead, in truth. He looked long dead. As a body in an airless cave which does not moulder like fruit, but withers like grass.  
Forgive me, I shall be fine.... Yes, more miruvor, thankyou.

Only his eyes lived, fey with helpless fury. All around him the rock was scored with the marks of his fingernails, clawing, gripping futilely at the unyielding stone. I could not see, my own eyes were flooded with tears of pity and rage.  
His hair, what was left of it, was thin and faded, but patches of pale skin showed through, his very hair, which had been so heavy and shining, was coming away from his head. His skin...  
Do you truly wish to hear this ? What will it avail you ? You will seek to avoid capture whether you hear this or no.

Very well. His lips were black, his gums were swollen, and some of his very teeth were gone. Not broken by the enemy, save in the cruel torment of his terrible prison. His skin, such as it was, clung to his bones, but it was cracked, split and flaking, and between the cracks, new cracks, some raw with blood, some dried and scabbed, and some pitifully struggling to heal, only to crack again in the bitter wind.  
For the cold was... It was not so bad as Helcaraxë, yet we had our clothes, we were moving, we had fires, we were free. But he...

Forgive me. But when he looked at me, as I clung in terror to the great bird, when all that I could recognise were those ferocious eyes, and my heart sang with joy to behold him again, when in my joy he begged me to slay him...

Where is that miruvor ?


End file.
